


Always wanting more is the sin of love

by Butterfish



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Love, Love Confessions, M/M, School, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 15:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfish/pseuds/Butterfish
Summary: Alfred may not know a lot, but he knows to take his time. Maybe too much time.





	Always wanting more is the sin of love

Alfred didn’t know a lot. His teachers said so. His mum said so. His brother Matthew hinted at it with the way he narrowed his eyes whenever Alfred posed a question such as, “If the Earth stops spinning will we fly into space?” Heck, even  _Alfred_  knew the limitations to his own knowledge.

But one thing was clear to him, unmistakably so: love was going to be his downfall.

It was Tuesday, and nothing good ever happens on Tuesdays. Nothing bad happens either. Everyone hates Monday. Everyone loves Friday. Wednesday is the halfway point to the weekend. Thursday is the-day-before-Friday-day. But Tuesday? Forgettable. Unremarkable. Therefore,  _perfect_.

Alfred pushed himself against the bus window as he bit a piece of gum in half. In the reflection, he could see Matthew’s gaze follow him.

“Why do you always do that?” he asked.

Alfred popped the other half of the gum in his mouth. “Do what?”

“That. Bite the piece in half. It’s so small. It’s made for immediate consumption.”

“ _Immediate consumption_ ,” Alfred repeated and smacked his lips together. “Fancy.”

Matthew scoffed. “Don’t make fun of me, you’re the one rationing gum. We’re not  _that_ poor.”

“Nah, we’re just  _normal_  poor.” Alfred wriggled his toes as he glanced down at his worn sneakers. His toenails had almost gnawed through the soft top fabric of the shoes. It was only a matter of days before he would beg his mum for new ones. Then it would be a matter of weeks before she would drag him to a second hand shop. Then a matter of months (just in time for Christmas!) before he would get a brand new pair. That was always his Christmas gift. New sneakers. To be worn down after a few games of basketball.  _It’s a wonder I’ve not been put up for adoption out of spite_ , Alfred pondered.

“So why do you do it?” Matthew asked.

The bus came to a stop. As he picked his backpack off the floor, Alfred glanced out of the window and caught sight of a bright yellow bicycle -  _the_  bright yellow bicycle - rolling through the school gates.  _Bingo_.

“If I chomp it down, I just want more,” he said and climbed across Matthew’s lap to be the first in the aisle. His sneakers dragged a dirty patch over his brother’s jeans.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, in a hurry!” Alfred jumped down the steps and off the bus, just in time to see the yellow bike round the corner of the school building. He set off in a sprint, his bag bouncing and his breath quickening, and he’d barely made it to the corner before he shouted: “What time do you call this, slacker!”

In front of him stood Arthur. Boring, old Arthur. Boring, because he always wore the same jeans and t-shirts. Black jeans, black tees. As if every day was an attempt at being goth but his senses got the better of him (that and the fact that it wasn’t year 2005 anymore) so he opted for  _downplayed cool kid_ , _dark scandi chic_ , or perhaps  _cartoon character who owns one set of clothes_. And old? Well, he was a total of 172 days, five hours and nineteen minutes older than Alfred. Exactly.

Arthur rubbed the palms of his hands against the worn leather of his handlebars, then wrapped his fingers around the frayed strips before turning the bike to face Alfred. His brows raised slightly. “Slacker?”

“Yeah,” Alfred said. He leaned up against the wall, hands in pockets, and tried to breathe through his nose until his heartbeat returned to a normal pace. He wanted to seem collected. “I’ve been here for, heh,” he looked at his mobile, “thirty minutes? Man, you’re  _late_.”

“No one is late if they arrive before the scheduled time.”

“Well, you kind of are if you’re the last to arrive.”

“You were later than me.”

“Was not.”

“Saw you on the bus. Climbing on Matthew.” Arthur cocked his head to the side, and Alfred felt his breath quicken again under his watchful eyes. “Nice to see two siblings so  _close_.” There was something about the way he spoke, so dry and without humour whilst the sides of his lips pulled into a slight smile. You’d miss it if you didn’t know him. Luckily for Alfred, he’d known Arthur for years. More than long enough to catch the playfulness in his attitude, however small it was.

Alfred sniffed in and chewed down on his gum. “Oh yeah? Well…” He shuffled his feet. He was out of things to say. Normal things anyway. He had plenty he could tell Arthur. Like,

“Last night I dreamt that we built a spaceship and we went to Mars and it was full of people and we opened a restaurant selling Earth food and they all loved it but on Mars you have to prepare the food to different standards so we got shut down because we didn’t bleach out meat so we were poor living on the street but it was okay because you turned to me and professed your love which was super cool and kept us warm all night.”

But instead he said,

“Well, I’ll see you after class, maybe?” and he reached out and rung Arthur’s bell and felt like a total knobhead when Arthur pulled his bike back slightly.

“Yeah, maybe,” Arthur said. He stepped onto one of the pedals of his bike and pushed himself around in a half circle, gave Alfred a polite nod, and then rolled off toward the bike shed.

Alfred pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and grimaced: “See you after class, maybe.” He shook his head at himself, dragged his hood over his face, and trudged to class as the bell rang.

* * *

Alfred knew to take his time with things.

He took his time eating, because he could never be sure when his mum would be back with more food. If she got a good tip at the cafe, maybe they’d splash on a takeaway. However more often than not they’d be stuck slurping noodles all night. “Look at it as preparation for college,” Matthew always said. With time, however, the joke had become dry like wallpaper paste. A joke isn’t fun if it’s too true.

He took his time studying, because he found it hard to remember anything. Words were just words. The concepts of philosophers and writers and poets didn’t mean much to him when he had nothing to pin it on. Maths was just bearable because he had to be good at numbers to help his mum budgeting. Maths was a boring necessity of life.

But he really took his time with Arthur. As he sat in maths class, he calculated that he’d taken an exact four years, forty days, five hours and sixteen minutes (no give or take,  _exactly_ ).

Four years, forty days, five hours and seventeen minutes ago, he was just a newbie at school. Just another kid forced to present himself to class, choke up a few ‘cool facts’ (“I like turtles,” no longer made people laugh, he realised then, cringing at the memory of the days when memes were the only humour he knew) and seat himself next to someone who’d never become his friend. But for the fact that four years, forty days, five hours and seventeen minutes ago, that someone did become his friend.

Arthur Kirkland.

Alfred bit down on the end of his pencil and glanced up at the blackboard in a daze. It tasted funny, the lead in his pen. Maybe because it wasn’t lead at all. It was chalk. And the blackboard was right in front of him. As he turned around, he found his classmates watching him intensely.

Alfred licked the grey dust off his lips and blinked. “Uh, what was the problem again?” he asked the room.

“Certainly not that,” Mr Brown offered (uselessly, one might add) as he gestured at Alfred’s scribbles.

Alfred looked at how he’d calculated his way back to the first meeting with Arthur. “Huh,” he mumbled.

“What does that even mean?” someone whispered.

“It’s the time it takes him to get off,” someone replied. Snickers followed.

Alfred smacked his lips until the last chalk had blown off. “Funny,” he said and glanced at no one in particular, his eyes searching his classmates, “that’s exactly four years, forty days, five hours and sixteen minutes longer than  _you_  last.”

He didn’t really pay attention to the uproar that followed, nor Mr Brown’s tired attempts at keeping everyone seated. His gaze was focused on the seat in the back, the same spot he’d sat down next to Arthur those many years ago.

Arthur had been difficult to get along with in an easy way. Difficult, because he was impossible to read and never offered any information upfront, but easy because he’d answer any question and never shy away from a topic. Best holiday? Family trip to Amsterdam. Worst holiday? Musical Summer Camp. Favourite food? Sunday roast. Most watched movie? Titanic. Ever gotten drunk? Once. Ever gotten high? Never.

Their friendship began one question at a time. Slowly, Alfred was able to pry open Arthur’s personality and get a glimpse inside his head. The more he knew, the more he wanted to know. The closer they became, the closer he wanted to be. Soon, they were hanging out together at every break, catching up on life when they passed each other in the hallway, and going home late as they slowly, every so slowly, walked the steps from school to the bike shed. The questions continued; Best drink? Tea. Worst TV show? Jeopardy. Best meme? That dog with the flames and the cuppa (Arthur’s description, much to Alfred’s chagrin).

_Ever been in love?_

Some questions could not be asked, just like some things could not happen. Like going home together after school. So their talks always ended the same way they started - at the shed, as Arthur climbed his yellow bicycle and waved goodbye, and Arthur would patter off to the bus stop to wait for the next service. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend more time with Arthur. He wanted it so, so,  _so_  bad.

But it was like eating without thinking of the next meal, or reading poetry and trying to make sense of the hidden meaning, or understanding how pi just continues forever. You’ll break yourself. When he was a kid begging for stuff, his mum would always show him her empty purse and say, “Wanting more is a sin,” before snapping it shut. He didn’t get it then but he got it now.

Wanting more is a sin because there may not be more to get. In the case of Arthur, Alfred had kept to the routine to ensure he would not break. To ensure he enjoyed what he had.

But today was Tuesday. Good old, boring, samey, predictable Tuesday. So today was  _his_ day.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Alfred glanced up as Arthur entered the classroom. His gaze slipped to the clock on the wall. Half past one. “Yeah, well, you found me,” Alfred said.

“Detention?” Arthur didn’t wait for an answer, but simply dropped down to sit on the edge of Alfred’s desk. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing gets nobody in trouble.”

“Nobody and me,” Alfred said and leaned back in his seat. He pulled at the strings of his hood until the fabric curled up around his neck. “I swear, all I gotta do is look at Mr Brown wrong, and he puts me in detention.”

Arthur looked around the empty classroom. “Where is he?”

“Just out for some chalk,” Alfred replied.  _He didn’t want to use the one I sucked on_ , he thought, but didn’t say. He’d already fiddled with Arthur’s bell. He wasn’t about to risk weirding him out more. The smallest things seemed to push Arthur’s mood in odd directions, like the sound of a screeching tire or a glass clinking in the sink. “He’ll be back.”

“Like the Terminator.” Arthur was watching the blackboard. He cocked his head to one side, then another. It was then Alfred realised his earlier calculations were still scribbled across the bottom of the board.

“Oh,” he mumbled, “that’s just-”

“That’s when we met, right?” Arthur looked back at Alfred who blinked at him in surprise.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I remember,” he said. His face was emotionless, but his words drilled into Alfred’s skull. His heart started beating a bit faster. It was like he was running. “I never really had a friend before. Well, I guess that’s a weird thing to say. But I didn’t.” He looked back at the board, and Alfred let go of the strings of his hood.

“You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve told me something without being asked.”

“Is it? Maybe it is.”

They sat in silence for a bit, the only sounds being the ticking clock on the wall and a distance sound of laughter from the yard. Alfred was twisting and turning Arthur’s words in his head.  _Friend_ , he’d said, like a first friend. Like someone you trust. It made him feel good and sick to the stomach all at once. He peeled at the paper in front of him, the assignment from Mr Brown barely started. Then he stood up at once.

“Do you know what day today is?” Alfred asked.

Arthur looked at him. “Tuesday. Did you forget?”

“No.” Alfred felt himself go a bit red. Now he just sounded dumb. “I mean, do you ever think Tuesday is really weird? Like, it’s the one day no one cares about but we all have to live through it.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said in a way that suggested to Alfred that he did not at all suppose that.

“Well, what if something unexpected happened on a Tuesday?”

“I am sure something unexpected once happened on a Tuesday.”

“Well, what if something happened today?”

“Well, now I’m expecting it so it wouldn’t be very unexpected.”

Alfred snapped his lips together. His heart was beating quick. Blood rushed around his head. It almost drowned out his own words as he spoke: “Arthur, I really, really-”

“-think you should leave Mr Jones to finish his assignment.”

They both looked towards the door where Mr Brown had made an appearance. He corrected his glasses so he could get a better look at Arthur.

Arthur shrugged and slipped down from the desk. “Of course, Mr Brown. My apologies,” he said, sounding perfectly polite and insulting all at once. Alfred knew Arthur to be good at those double-talks. No one could ever fault him, not even himself as the guy turned around and wished him a “Happy unexpected Tuesday!” before disappearing down the hallway.

Mr Brown sat down at his desk and looked through his calendar. “It’s Tuesday?” he muttered.

Alfred buried his head in his hands and sighed.

* * *

Alfred had just unwrapped a piece of gum as Arthur settled down next to him. The last class had just finished, and students were still running down the steps towards the gates and their freedom. Alfred was in no such hurry. He’d nestled up against the banister waiting for his friend.

He bit the gum in half and offered the other tiny part to Arthur who took it without questioning. Yet a thing he liked about him - he never asked, he just accepted.

“In astrology, Tuesday is associated with Mars,” Arthur said and ran his fingers through his hair. The blond locks were damp after PE. Alfred watched as water dripped down his nape. “It has manly connotations. Like strength and fire.”

“Fire?” Alfred blinked.

“Guess you could say it’s  _passionate_. Not bad for an unremarkable day.” He smiled slightly, and Alfred returned it with a grin.

“Suppose not!” They got up and slowly started making their way down the steps, around the corner, and toward the shed.  _Maybe_ , Alfred thought, i _t’s a sign. Maybe Tuesday really is extraordinary and was just waiting for someone to see it. Maybe that someone is me_.

But still he was quiet as Arthur unlocked his bike and got on the seat. They looked at each other for a long, quiet minute.

“Do you believe in astrology?” Alfred asked meekly, just to say something.

“No,” Arthur replied. “Do you?”

“I don’t even know my sign,” Alfred said. Lie. He always read the horoscopes. Especially the love section.

“Well,” Arthur said and scraped at the ground with his shoes, “I better be off.”

“If you believed in astrology,” Alfred stopped him, “if. Then what would you make of Tuesdays?”

Arthur grimaced slightly as he seemed to think. “Well, I’d say it’s a day for fights.”

“Like, war?”

“No, more like, honesty.”

“How’s honesty a fight?”

“It’s a hard battle to be honest,” Arthur replied and shrugged. “Anyway, I better be off-”

“I really like you.”

Alfred knew he’d spoken the words but yet he didn’t hear them. The rushing blood was back. It crashed against the inside of his head like waves, drowning out all noise. His skin was swirling. In his cheeks, in his fingers. As if he was going to go numb.

Arthur was staring at him. Then his gaze softened. “I like you too,” he replied.

Alfred blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Alfred bit his inner cheek and felt his stomach churn as he realised what he might have meant. “You mean, like a friend?”

“That too,” Arthur nodded.

Alfred bit his cheek harder and furrowed his brows. “That too?” he repeated. “What else?”

“Well, I like you. Like a friend. And more.”

“And more?”

“Is that a question?” Arthur’s foot dropped from the pedal, and he balanced himself on the bike seat. He turned the handlebars slightly so he could face Alfred full on.

Alfred wasn’t sure what to say. He searched for words, but the only thing he could find was: “Why didn’t you ever say?”

“Well, you never asked.”

“I  _always_  ask  _everything_.”

For once, he seemed to have caught Arthur out. His eyes shortly widened. Just shortly, but long enough for Alfred to notice. “I suppose that’s true.”

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat and looked down. The ground was moving, it seemed, which was weird. Because he wasn’t. He was also a bit out of breath. But only a bit. This whole Tuesday thing hadn’t gone to plan. It seemed it had taken both Arthur and himself by surprise.

“I suppose that’s true,” Arthur said again and also looked down. As their eyes met again, he asked: “Okay, well, do you want to come home with me and make out?”

Alfred’s face went bright red and he gawked, “Do I…?” But then he caught the twinge to Arthur’s eyes. His mouth fell open. And he laughed. “Was that a joke?”

“I don’t know, was it?”

“You’re suddenly asking a whole lot of questions.”

“Well, you did just say,” Arthur shrugged. He patted his handlebar, and Alfred slowly reached over and closed his fingertips around it. Arthur slipped off the seat and took a hold of the same bar, his fingers cold against Alfred’s as they wrapped around his.

“You know,” Alfred stuttered, “I take things slow.”

“I’ve noticed,” Arthur said. “Four years, forty days, eight hours and six minutes.” He checked his phone. “Seven minutes, to be exact.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Arthur squeezed his fingers, and in that moment Alfred thought,  _I don’t want more. I don’t need more. This is exactly everything I’ve longed for._

“No need,” Arthur said. “What’s the hurry?”

As they slowly made their way out through the gates, Alfred thought,  _What’s the hurry indeed_. Because always wanting more is the sin of love. But getting it is the pleasure.


End file.
